


Showtime

by Tobiyond



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Foolrat, I REGRET NOTHING, M/M, Pure Smut, Smudged makeup, Trans Junkrat, Transmale reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 06:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8566696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tobiyond/pseuds/Tobiyond
Summary: His technique was impeccable, but you were going to have some words about his costuming.





	

Clown Burlesque. You weren’t sure if you wanted to believe that was even a thing, but thinking back to some of the other things you’ve seen in town, you didn’t feel too surprised. If nothing else, it sounded like an interesting way to spend the night. Hopes high and expectations low, you now sat next to the very person who convinced you to come out in the first place. She’d been before and couldn’t speak more highly of the performers. You decided not to ask how long she’d been going out to clown shows. She had too much dirt on you to start that war now.

The venue wasn’t bad. With chipped paint on the stairwell down into the main seating area and at least one cracked stage light, it wasn’t good, but there was a charm to it. The exact sort of charm you’d expect from a place with a large poster of a man named only The Fool wearing bright white makeup, a long purple coat and. . .were those bells in his hair? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. You turn to mention something to your friend only to have the lights start dimming. Too late to bail now. It’s showtime.

The music was about as cheesy as you expected, playing for a good ten seconds before a figure made his way on stage. Dark blue hair sectioned off to resemble a jester’s hat, complete with softly jingling bells on the ends. Pure white makeup accented with black triangles over the eyes and lipstick almost as purple as the coat that hugged his thin frame with a shining gold trim and left little the imagination. The hem swirled around his legs as he turned to face the audience.

Oh. Well, his leg anyway. The right one ended at the knee, shifting into a mechanical nightmare of a knee joint and a long, thick peg. You were pretty sure there was a spring wrapped around it for some reason, but you could at least appreciate the star designs on the side. The man knew his theming. Definitely the same person from the poster, but wow. You couldn’t tell how tall he was then. With the seats angled low, he was practically towering over the crowd and it was doing wonders for his stage presence. The music continued, a stereotypical carnival noise, as he slid both gloved hands into his pockets, retrieving a set of golden balls from each one. They settled comfortably between his fingers, displayed to the crowd with a dramatic flick of his wrists. Then they were in the air.

This was actually happening. You were sitting in an almost run down club in the middle of the night watching a man juggle. At least he was good at it. His movements were fluid as he stepped forward, stretching out his full leg behind him and balancing on the metal one. That was actually sort of impressive and you clapped along with your friend. He moved back, a delighted giggle leaving his mouth and catching you completely off guard. What was that? Aside from way too cute to be dealing with this time of the night. You turned to look at your friend but she was already eyeing you. Oh. Oh no.

The music shift was sudden. From parking lot carnival to an upbeat Scissor Sisters track. All six of the balls he’d been juggling were in one hand as he used the other, a dark blue metal wonder of engineering much like his peg leg, to slowly undo the buttons of his coat. Right. Burlesque. Clothing was going to be coming off and you weren’t entirely sure how you felt about that right now. Sure, he was kind of cute once you looked past the face paint, but that didn’t make the whole situation any less weird. You were elbowed out of your thoughts, brought back to the performance just as the layers of coat dropped to the stage.

Oh.

Well then.

A crop top the same blue as his hair and his limbs, the top decorated with a traditional fool’s collar. Striped leggings slung far too low on wide hips. The paint continued down his torso and newly exposed arms, both of which looked way too toned to be just from juggling. His movements were still fluid, but there was a definite tease to them now. Leaning forward to press soft kisses to the metal spheres before he threw them. Spinning around to retrieve one that was obviously dropped on purpose just so he could show off an ass that had no right looking so good in those tights. The bells in his hair stayed in time with the music, even as he dropped down into a split and tossed his head back, making a show of catching one of the balls with his mouth. If you hadn’t been fearing for his teeth should he mess up, it could’ve been attractive. Almost.

As much as you tried to rag on the whole idea, he put on a good show. He knew what his best assets were and showed them off well. Too well in some spots when you could feel your friend’s eyes boring into you. She knew he was your type. It had been a trap, the whole thing. He kneeled on the edge of the stage, thick thighs on display as he leaned until his back was touching the stage. His fingers continued to work perfectly choreographed magic and your mind couldn’t help but slip into the gutter. Just a bit. A man with that much dexterity must be able to get someone screaming pretty quick and given the half lidded looks he kept shooting into the crowd, he was well aware of that fact.

Before you could get too into that thought, the music ended and the spell was broken. The audience wasn’t large, but they more than made up for it in enthusiasm. After that show, you were more than willing to clap with them. The Fool gave an exaggerated bow, bells jangling on the stage before he gathered up his coat and flounced back behind the curtain. What a character. Your friend was already begging for your opinion and you let her know that you, surprisingly, enjoyed yourself. Would you be coming back out again? Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. But, you weren’t ruling out the thought. The crowd began to mix as people got up from their seats, many making plans to go to the actual pub across the street for drinks rather than use the club’s tiny bar. That actually sounded like a good idea, but you were willing to wait for everyone to move out first. 

Once the crowd thinned a bit and you could hear better, you felt comfortable talking about the performance from an artist’s point of view. The movements. The subtle lines and angles he kept creating with his body. The man was talented. You wouldn’t argue that. Something had been bothering you, though. Your hands clasped together as you went off on the condition of his body paint. Sweat had smeared what was on his face by the end of the performance, speaking wonders about the quality of it. His arms seemed good enough, but the entire lower half of his back was just bare. No paint. Nothing to cover it. Just flesh colored skin with no clear reason for the transition. Did he not have help? A mirror? Did he need someone to help him put on his damn makeup? How do you go on stage half assed like that? Your rant was intense enough that you didn’t quite notice your friend looking behind you and giving a small nod. Then there was an arm around your shoulder and a playful giggle near your ear.

“If it bothers ya that much, you’re welcome to help me get it right next time.” Crawling up into a hole and dying felt like a good idea right about now. The Fool was leaning on you, cocky smirk on his face that meant he’d heard every little thing you were ranting about. Great. Now you looked like an ass. He didn’t seem too offended though. In fact, he was actually grabbing a pen and a small notepad your friend was handing him and. . .you desperately wanted to wall her up in an old wine cellar as you realized she was letting him write down his number for you. 

Scratch that. His number, a date, and an address. 

“Could always use a little help backstage. This is my next show.” He handed the notepad back to your friend after ripping the page he wrote on out to hand to you. “Tell the bouncer you’re with Fawkes. He’ll show ya where to go.” Not sure what else to do, you took the paper. He was being serious. Too embarrassed to be subtle, you let your eyes travel from his face, down his chest and across those abs that deserved a good coat of paint on them. Okay. Okay, you could work with this. When your eyes darted back up, his were there to meet them. Great. “See you there?” There was such a tease to his voice. You put on your best nonchalant face and nodded. No point trying to talk when you weren’t sure what sound would come out. 

He gave another happy laugh, patting your shoulder as he did. Another dramatic bow and he was on his way. You looked down at the paper in your hand, up at your friend’s ecstatic face, and finally back to the stage.

You needed to do some shopping before next week.

\- - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - -

“Fawkes? Down the hall. Blue door.” The bouncer pointed up ahead and you thanked him with a curt nod. You just hoped the performer was in his room already. You knew makeup and costuming could take awhile, but maybe two hours before the show was pushing it. Shifting your bag of supplies into your other hand, you set off down the hall. One week wasn’t much time to get what you needed, but thankfully one of the Magic shops in town doubled as a costume store year round and they had the bare essentials you would use to redeem yourself. Like Hell you were about to be caught calling someone’s makeup out and then not be able to fix it. 

The door was simple enough. Nothing that would’ve marked it as a dressing room and for a moment you were concerned that you’d gone the wrong way. Then the sound of high pitched laughter came from within and you knew you were at the right place. God. That laugh had been haunting you since you left the last show. It wasn’t fair. No one had a right to be that tall and that well built and that. . .whatever you could call what his laugh did to you. You took a moment to mentally prepare before knocking on the door. The sounds stopped immediately. A shuffle of furniture within, the clunk of his metal leg on the floor and the door was yanked open. 

“I told you I j- oh.” The tone in his voice was far from friendly until he looked down and spotted you. Must have been having some trouble. Thankfully, he was all smiles again when he realized who was at the door. “You made it! Good good. C’mon, c’mon. Inside.” You hardly had time to say hello before his metal hand was ushering you forward. He stuck his head out after you’d cleared the doorway, looking back and forth before pulling back in and closing it. 

His dressing room was. . . interesting. There was a tablet propped up in the corner playing some sort of footage of a man driving. You were pretty sure Katy Perry was playing, but from where, you weren’t sure. There wasn’t much in the way of decoration otherwise. The purple coat he’d worn the first time you saw him was hung over a chair that sat in front of a large vanity. A few of the lights on the mirror were burned out, but it was bright enough to see what you were doing. His own makeup was laid out and you wasted no time in walking over to investigate.

Okay. At least the white paint was decent. Not top quality, but it could be saved with a good setting powder. The black, which you guessed is what he used for around his eyes, was absolute garbage and would not do at all. That was fine. You had some of your own. Spinning around to tell him this, you got your first good look at what he was wearing. Or. Rather. What he wasn’t.

His chest was completely bare, scars of various shapes and sizes criss crossing over where his crop top had hidden them before. His hips tilted as he watched your eyes travel down to the garter belt that held up striped stockings, ending in a single calf height boot with some sort of golden spike on the end. It was definitely a look that he wore well. A little too well. He cleared his throat and you were sure your face was bright red. Good. Wonderful new impression. The sound of metal on metal suddenly snapped you out of your embarrassment as the man who was driving on his tablet suddenly slammed into another car. What the hell was he watching?

“Old dash cams. Remind me of home.” He walked past you to switch off of that video, swaying his hips as he moved. You were pretty sure he was doing it on purpose now. Was that why he gave you his number in the first place? Wait. Were you being hit on? If possible, your face got even redder. No way. He obviously had his own following in town and plenty of people there were your usual idea of “cute club boy”. No, this was just a pride thing probably. You could offer him some tips. He could look better on stage. You could share a few laughs about the whole ordeal and that would be that. Right. Professional.

With that in mind, you started on about his makeup, listing what you’d brought with you and how it compared to what he was using. You half expected him to be an ass about it. Honestly, he had all reason to be, but instead he took a seat at the vanity and examined the tubes and powder as you explained. He was eyeing the setting powder the most as you spoke, turning it over in his hands and chuckling a bit. 

“This would’ve saved me a lot of grief at one of my old haunts.” He tossed it up in the air before catching it expertly between his fingers. His long, thin, flexible fingers. You quickly told your brain to cut it out. You were busy. He made a quick note of the time and stood to cross the room again. His arm just barely brushed past you, but it was enough to bring your blush back. Watching his back muscles move as he shimmied into a top that was somehow even more revealing than the crop top from before didn’t help. “Give a man a hand here, huh?” His fingertips were motioning at a clasp on the back. You stepped forward, glad for the distraction. Until you realized what you were attaching.

There was probably a proper name for it, but all you could see was the jester style collar with no fewer than eight O-rings dangling from it that you now had to clasp behind his neck. Right. Professionally snapping a collar onto someone was totally a thing. You’d be fine. The clasp wasn’t difficult and he stood mostly still for you. That was nice of him. Right up until the collar was attached and he spun around, face dangerously close to yours.

“Thanks mate.” He said with a wink. If he noticed your blush, he didn’t say anything. At least, not yet. There was still a knowing tilt to his hips as he walked back over the vanity and started on the base of his makeup. You watched as he applied it, piping up once or twice when the embarrassment wore off. His actual technique wasn’t bad. He knew what he was doing, he was just missing that good finish for it. Bad choice of words for your current state of mind, but it got the point across. He had nothing but praise for the black paint you brought for his eye designs. There was a bit of a struggle while he tried to get the lines as straight as he had with the eyeliner he was using before, but he managed to make it look half decent on his second try. For stage makeup? It would work. 

Face finished, he started to thread his fingers through his hair, separating it out into the three sections you’d seen it in before. It was a strange hairstyle for certain, especially when he retrieved one of the thick bells that added an extra hint of music to his performance. It was almost entrancing to watch his fingers move nimbly around the bell, threading his hair through the hole up top with practiced ease. You didn’t remember seeing him put any gel or spray in the base of his hair to support it and expected the metal to fall as he let go, smacking him in the face for his hubris. Instead, it dangled just above his fiery eyes. The sound was deep, calming even as he shook his head to be sure they were secure.

When you piped up to ask about it, he simply laughed, makeup creasing under his eyes even worse than before.

“Mum blessed me with thick hair and thick thighs. I’ve made a living out of both.” You took a step back as he stood up, his fingertips nearly reaching the low ceiling in a stretch that popped something in his back loud enough for you to hear. “Alright short stuff.” He picked up the white creme makeup and handed it to you. “Since you’re the expert.” There was a taunt in his voice, but you weren’t about to back down. You could definitely handle applying paint to his back and sides. There was nothing weird about that at all. You definitely weren’t hyper aware of how his skin moved over his tight muscles as he shifted down so you could reach him easily. Or the way he leaned into the touch of the sponge you were using to make sure you got good coverage. He was definitely not making noises whenever you ran your hand along his spine to smudge a spot you’d missed.

“Easy with the merchandise back there.” He called over his shoulder as you jabbed at his spine a little harder than you needed to in your frustration. By the time you were done with his back and sides, he was basically leaning over against the vanity to support himself and give you full access to his torso as you knelt down. It was a nice pose for him. You could admit that much. Your hands needed washing, but before you got a chance to stand up, he’d spun around. Even you felt your face heat back up as you were suddenly face to stomach with him. It definitely could’ve been worse, but you weren’t about to look up at him to give him the satisfaction of how flustered you were. He hadn’t even done anything except exist.

“You know,” he started and you were already on edge because his voice dropped down into a sly purr. Fingertips softly traced the top of your head, pausing to stroke a few strands of hair. “While you’re down there.” The tone was lightened almost immediately, laughter following as he pat the top of your head. A joke. Of course it was a joke. You went to work on painting his stomach the same way you’d done his back, taking deep breaths to stay focused. It was harder when you could feel his eyes on you. Watching you work. His hand reached out and softly touched a strand of hair again. The metal hand was surprisingly gentle and you lost the fight to not push your head up into it. This drew another giggle out of the man. What a nice sound that was. You seemed to be losing a lot of fights with yourself all at once as he traced a finger down your cheek and slipped it under your chin.

“Hey uh, you let me know if I’m reading this wrong, alright?” His voice was softer for a moment, regarding you with an odd amount of fondness for a man you’d really just met. How dare he. You were trying your best to keep it from being weird and here he was looking down at you with a soft smile on his face and his free hand toying with the edge of his garter belt. “You are interested, right mate?” Shit. Were you? His hand stopped playing with your hair while he waited for an answer. At least you could respect that. If you said no, his makeup was pretty much done. You could show him how the setting powder worked and then see yourself out. Go home. Probably jack off a little bit thinking about his giggle and go to bed. Easy. 

Or, you could sigh heavily to yourself for being so weak for tall guys and lean back against his hand again. Yeah. You were interested. There were certainly worse ways to spend your night. The gentle smile broke into a wide grin, all teeth and thin lips. Your hands moved to rest on his hips, keeping yourself steady while you waited to see what he was up to. You weren’t sure what to expect from a man who wore golden panties to match his boot. Before you had a chance to decide whether you wanted to be shy about the whole situation or not, he was running a hand up his outer thigh, sliding it around to dance across the front of his crotch. With the way his fingers rubbed against it, you were expecting to see the outline of his dick underneath unless he was wearing one hell of a gaff. Instead they dipped and prodded through the fabric, free hand starting to tangle in your hair again as he nearly pressed a finger inside himself while still clothed. 

Oh. Fuck. You couldn’t hold back your eagerness now. The hands on his hips moved to roll the edge of his panties down, drawing another playful giggle from the man above you.

“Good to know that ain’t a turn off,” He spoke with the tone of someone who had definitely had his body called a turn off before and now you were determined to show him that he could not be farther from the truth. The clips of his garter kept you from pulling the golden fabric down all the way, but it was enough. He was a mess of bright blonde curls, which shouldn’t have been as much of a shock after seeing him with only blue hair, and as soon as he was exposed to the room, his fingers were back to work. You couldn’t remember doing anything even slightly attractive, but he was already wet. Fingers slicked up and sliding through his folds, rubbing over his dick, putting on one hell of a show for you.

“Saw how you were eyeing me.” You looked up as he spoke, unprepared for the blush that was visible even though his sheer paint. “Thought I was making it up, but you gotta be thinking something when you get all squirmy from a guy touching your arm.” Of course he noticed that. You fought back your own red face and decided a distraction was in order. When one of his fingers slipped back out to rub his dick, you leaned forward and ran your tongue along the length of it. The noise he made was wonderful. When he didn’t move right away, you took your chance to wrap your hand around his wrist and pull the finger into your mouth. Tongue dragging along his skin, sucking at the digit until he groaned at the attention. He was going to be a noisy one. You could already tell. 

He pulled his hand back and you allowed the finger to slip out of your mouth with an audible pop. While he was still distracted, you put both hands back on his hips and slowly, teasingly ran your tongue over his dick. Hips jerking forward, he tightened his grip on your hair and hissed through his teeth. Good. If he was that sensitive already, it would make your job a lot easier. He had nothing to lean back against as your mouth went to work and settled for leaning over you instead as you kissed along his folds, slipping your tongue in and teasing his hole. He was absolute putty in your hands almost instantly. 

“Mmmm pretty boy sure knows how to eat, doesn’t he?” Soft sounds of encouragement mixed with breathy gasps and fuck if that didn’t make you wetter than you already were. Even with your hands on his hips, he was still grinding against you, working his body onto your tongue, encouraging you to go deeper, suck him off, right there, bite if you want he won’t mind. It was a ramble of dirty talk mixed with rambled cursing and you loved it. Deciding to have a bit of fun, you pulled back until your mouth was just hovering over him and glanced up. There was confusion in his eyes, mouth hanging open slightly as he panted from your attention. You grinned. Now you got to be the one in control. A soft kiss was placed just below where the paint on his stomach ended. Another below that, trailing down his body, but avoiding where he was desperately trying to grind his hips into. A playful nibble at his hip, another on his thigh. He seemed to take to those well, so you chanced a harder bite on his inner thigh and were rewarded with a strangled groan. Good to know.

His panting became another laugh as you teased. The metal hand reached back to the vanity, snatching a tube of something from it. You couldn’t see too well from your current angle, but you were mildly concerned for your hair if he’d grabbed any of the paint. The hand in your hair untangled itself and he hummed as the tube was uncapped and twisted up. He was trying to recover, trying to be less of a blushing, whimpering mess. He wanted some of that cockiness back and it showed in his eyes. The lipstick was the same bright purple he’d worn when you first met and he used it to wave at you.

“Only got an hour left. Go on then.” Oh. Oh that cocky little shit. You slid one of your hands down his hips and dipped your fingers into him again. Not quite inside yet, but running along his lips and gathering up enough of his slick to make the movement easy. Your mouth was back on his dick, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin and waiting to hear his voice break down again. He was definitely breathing heavy, hips still rolling against you. He could try to be as nonchalant as he wanted but he had been the one to start this. You were just going to have to finish it. Finish him. 

The moan you got out of him when you finally slipped a finger past his entrance sent a shiver down your spine. Fuck what a sound. You knew you were absolutely soaked just listening to him, tasting nothing but him as his fingers fisted in your hair again. The rambling profanities were back. Your hand moved slowly at first, enjoying the way he tried not to whimper and failed. If he was going to be like that, you’d just make him beg. That seemed fair. You slipped your finger in to the knuckle and curled it, nearly choking on his dick when he ground his hips roughly against your face.

“F-fuck c’mon c’mon c’mon,” His voice sounded desperate and you humored him by thrusting your hand a bit faster. The curses were quickly replaced with soft, gentle words, trying to butter you up. “A little more sweetheart. C’mon. Let me ride your fingers. You’re killing me here.” Your hand stopped completely and he let out a strangled cry of frustration. Leaning back enough to make eye contact with him, you smiled. You could feel his juices leaking down your chin and you hoped he enjoyed the view as much as you were enjoying causing it. You looked at him expectantly and his knees almost buckled as he seemed to realize what you were waiting for. “PLEASE,” the word was laced with so much want, begging for anything as long as it led to him getting off.

You decided not to be cruel. All shame was gone as you rammed two of your fingers into him, delighting in the way he moan and giggled and thanked you for the pace you started up. You didn’t let up on his cock either, rolling the nub along your tongue, working it in time with your fingers. There was no holding his hips still now. He was having too much fun and you weren’t sure you wanted to stop him anyway. Your jaw ached, your tongue would be sore for a few days and your wrist was starting to cramp, but it didn’t matter. Your body burned for attention and you couldn’t help slipping a hand down into your own pants, groaning against him as you felt how wet you knew you were. The encouraging words fell to a single repeated curse and you could tell he was close. There was no rhythm to his hips anymore. You were just along for the ride as he fucked himself on your fingers, your face. Moaning loud enough that you’re sure the bouncer could hear him until he cried out, fingers tightening almost painfully in your hair as he came.

His legs were shaking as you gave one last slow lick to his dick and pulled back. He gave a visible wince when you pulled your fingers free, but then his face was back to a dopey, content grin. He hit his knees in front of you a bit harder than you enjoyed hearing and wrapped his flesh hand around your sore wrist. He softly massaged the skin as he took both of your soaked fingers into his mouth, giving them the same treatment you’d given his before. Fuck you hadn’t realized how long his tongue was until it was flat against the bottom of your fingers. Slowly, he drew back, letting his tongue drag along them until there was a thin strand of saliva connecting them. 

“My turn,” His voice was lower, husky and making heat pool in your stomach. He took notice of the hand already in your pants and grinned. You would’ve blushed if you weren’t already so ready for whatever he had in mind. His arms wrapped around your waist and you groaned.

The show must go on.

**Author's Note:**

> \- - tobiyond.tumblr.com - -


End file.
